In the fourth hour of the day on November 28th the pro consulate summoned several non-patrician citizens to call upon him. The creative representatives from three long established studio assemblies gathered under one roof to hear the proclamation. The Consul acting for the Plebeian Council sat at his desk and gave judgement… ‘Citizens of this canton I announce that hence forth your authority within your respective groups shall be concluded… Gentiles’ he continued, ‘I wish no anguish upon you…yet good servants, my building is falling down around me and I seek a new deal so that I can secure my kingdom.’ The tribune standing erect by the right shoulder of the pro consul delivered the terms. ‘Within three months your structures shall be dismantled and if you so wish, assimilation into a new regime shall be permissible… you have the options presented before you, seek counsel from your members and return to this chamber with your appeal in haste and with urgency. I insist that you do not idly go about your business for we move forward with or with out your cooperation.’

Within a matter of hour’s rumor and counter-rumor flourished among the plebs…a time to act…a grand gesture was deemed necessary. The artisans at once set about rallying support…word spread quickly of their plight…allies from within the plebeian council pledged their allegiance. An urgent message sent to a specific ally in the Senate house secured his services; his work would require delicacy within the political chambers…Executive magistrates (cultural heads) pledged support also; they in turn called upon their members to get behind the worthy cause. The word and the directive apparent…the plebes were to march to the Senate House in the Market Square, their want…to seek justice. ‘Join with the Cause’ became the battle cry and across the City the voice of decent revolution gained measure among the plebeian class.From within the studio spaces the artisans, craftspeople and creative practitioners began to congregate outside the building; some held aloft hastily constructed banners, whilst others used their own paintings…freshly daubed with slogan and statement. Within the hour they were ready to march, their number swelled by friends and followers. A mighty cheer burst forth from the restless crowd as a Lictor dressed in ceremonial garments lay prostrate before the partisan leaders. The colossal man had come with the Rods in hand…a white birch maul-stick and oak paintbrushes tied together with a red leather ribbon. The Lictor also carried (in the appropriate manner) the bronze artist’s pallet. The arrival of the Rods gave good heart…the Rods had been the property of the Senate and were a symbol of creativity. The fine crafted Rods were considered of National importance, precious items kept under lock and key and protected deep within the bowels of the Senate house… As a potent symbol (and if physical evidence was deemed essential) of entitlement, the plebs felt they held a just cause in which to claim them as their own…the Rods signified ‘resistance’ and for the plebs they were the abiding symbol of unity. Many years previous, the Rods had once belonged to the artisans, however during the last great rebellion in the 1960’s the authorities had made off with them during battle. Their motive: to quash any future creative movement from taking hold in the City…consequently guerrilla artists had taken to ‘sticker’ the city with the Rods as their emblem, a symbol that represented the resistance movement.

The Lictor, having placed himself at the disposal of the plebs, was granted the honor of leading the procession. With his mighty arms raised he held the Rods upon high…an inspiration to follow. At the eighth hour and to the beat of a drum the crowd began to align and to march behind the Rods…they surged onto the Mansfield Road and toward the City…likewise along many arterial routes in the City other Creatives also began to march to the same beat…all intent on converging in the Market Square.

The march to the City was not without incident and not every person along the route cheered on the demonstration. From both rented flat and commercial property, both insult and missile found targets. The artisans continued their march unabated, down Kings Street, by the statue of Tribune Brian Clough and on to the square. The plebeians’ arrival had not been unexpected…outside the Council House security personnel held rank, several lines deep with shield and baton keen. An expectant mob gathered to spectate and, adding to the cacophony of sound, political activists with loud hailers called kindred spirits to draw closer. From high vantage points around the square hecklers jeered and guard dogs taut in the hands of the protectors barked. The river of artisan and mob continued to flow into the Market Square…a heaving broth of will and spectacle and force and indifference…not all those present were marching to the same beat or cause. From the Council House and protected behind a line of bodyguards, members of the Senate and Legislative Assembly looked down upon the mob. High above, on the rooftops around the Market Square marksmen occupied vantage points…spotlights searched the mob.

Upon the twelfth hour of the day (6pm) the tolling of expectant bells remained silent. The augers wailed and hollered…this was a dreadful omen…the mob panicked…the square quickly descended into chaos…shots fired from mob and watchmen alike…the mob began to flee…to smash windows…to attack at random. Mobile Support Vehicles arrived and manoeuvred to blockade all possible escape exits, mounted police began to charge…helicopters hovered overhead picking out individuals in the crowd…collecting incriminating evidence…directing the attack. The artisans amassed under flags of unity, their number greatly reduced…members melted away among the fleeing mob…fractured. The committed had purpose and resolve…to save the Rods. The Lictor had been one of the first to fall during the battle...singled out by sniper. A small group of Creatives held the Rods in their protection, they began to hastily make their way towards the fountain and with good fortune to make their escape along St James Street. One of their number carrying a banner with the maxim ‘ Color me Blood’ led the way…at some point he fell away into the undertow…another went down, then another and then another…they were now few in number, but cosseted within the bigger drama, several dozen Creatives melted away with the fleeing mob. A last rear guard action was fought at the fountain. However, by the second hour of the night, the battle was lost.

Addendum.

The whereabouts of the Rods remains unknown.

The Market Square fountains have since become known as ‘The Fountains of Sorrow’.

The war continues…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Editor’s Note: On 28th November 2008, the owner of the Oldknows Factory served notice to quit on the Can, Egerton and Oldknows artists’ studio groups.The studios had occupied floors in the building for over 20 years, one of the most significant concentrations of working artists in the country.

Editor: Andrew Cooper, article first appeared on the Nottingham Visual Arts website 2009

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